


An Alchemy of Starlight

by fandammit



Series: Between Dark and Darker [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dad!Kane, Delinquent shenanigans, F/M, Gen, Magic, Season 2 Retelling, Supernatural World, Vera moms Marcus a LOT, Werewolves, Witches, everyone lives (except for Finn), witch!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandammit/pseuds/fandammit
Summary: Witch AU. In a world where where Abby brings Vera back from death's door and Nygel walks through walls, perhaps the most fantastical thing of all is this: Abby no longer has to hide who she is and Marcus knows the taste of her lips pressed again his.The sequel to"An Alchemy of Stardust"and a magical retelling of the first 8 episodes of Season 2.





	1. Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Slackru Big Bang, featuring art from the lovely zoemorgans!

The ship bursts through the atmosphere.

The metal of the station rattles around them, the movement knocking her roughly into Marcus. He looks over at her, his teeth gritted tightly together to keep them from clicking painfully against one another, fear and anxiety clearly written across his face. He lets go of her hand for a moment to wrap his arm around her shoulder, drawing her closer to him, as though to protect her from any worse case scenarios with the shield of his body and the force of his own will. He loops his other arm around Vera; who smiles up at him serenely, as though they aren’t hurtling through the air in a hundred year old spaceship, and simply hugs the Eden tree closer to her.

Abby wants to smile at that, but the ship starts shuddering so violently that she feels like her teeth might fall out of her head if she doesn’t focus on clenching her jaw tightly. She looks over at Marcus and tries to project a confidence she knows isn’t all that practical; still, she refuses to believe that they would’ve made it this far just to burn up in the coldness of space. Not with Clarke so close to being in her arms again.

Despite the heat of the metal around them, there’s a deep coldness creeping around her heart . She reaches up to where Marcus’ hand is resting on her shoulder and laces their fingers together again - just as the ship begins to steadily quiet, the creaking of the metal lessening until she can hear the murmurs of the crowd around them. She looks over at Sinclair, his brow furrowed, his fingers moving rapidly over the data pad in his hand. It’s a look she recognizes immediately from years of friendship - one of intense concentration verging on triumph. It’s the look he’d always wear just before he solved a particularly difficult calculus problem when they were kids, or manufactured a particularly trick mechanical part as the Ark slowly disintegrated around them. It’s the look that means they’re nearly to safety.

The ship dips and swoops, her stomach leaping up into her throat and then settling back down again. Sinclair doesn’t look troubled, simply lets his fingers fly faster over the datapad, the edges of his mouth turned up in an almost smile that tells her they’re going to be just fine. She feels Marcus’ fingers tighten in hers and glances over at him, a muted sort of panic shifting behind his eyes.

She brings their hands up to her mouth and presses a kiss into his roughened skin. The tightness around his eyes softens, the panic washing out to tenderness. She tilts her head in Sinclair’s direction.

“Look, he’s almost showing an emotion,” she says, leaning - admittedly - unnecessarily close to Marcus in the guise of being heard amidst the subdued rattling of the ship. She grins at him. “That must mean we’re on the edge of an unbelievable success.”

As though to prove her point, the ship steadies suddenly, the clanging of the metal walls dropping into nothingness.

Marcus blinks rapidly at her for a moment before his features rearrange themselves into something approaching a smile.

“Landing gear engaged,” a stilted, robotic voice says over the intercom. “Prepare for landing in t-minus 3 minutes.”

A cheer rings up from the crowd around them, more than a few sobs interspersed among them. Abby herself can’t seem to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. Marcus squeezes her fingers, while Abby reaches across the way and grabs Sinclair’s arm with her free hand.

“You did it, Jac!” She says, elated almost to the point of shouting.

He smiles over at her - a broad, boyish thing she doesn’t think she’s seen since Liona died - and squeezes her hand.

“We did it, Abs,” he replies, the words woven through with warmth and relief and awe. He shakes his head and lets out an abrupt laugh. “Two more minutes and we’ll be stepping foot on the ground.” His data pad chirps at him and he lets go of her hand, raising an eyebrow in Marcus’ direction before he dips his head back down to focus on his lap.

She turns towards Marcus and finds herself suddenly enveloped in the circle of his embrace, his hands immediately threading themselves through her hair. She buries her face into the crook of his neck and breathes him in; forces herself to think only about the warmth of his arms around her, the feel of his fingers tangled in her hair, the steady beat of his heart knocking against her chest.

The automated ship’s voice calls for them to brace, and she feels his arms tighten around her as the ship settles roughly onto the ground. There’s a loud hissing beneath them, the creaky settling of the metal around them.

Then, silence -

Only for a moment, until someone at the far end of the ship whoops loudly and unbuckles his seatbelt. Suddenly, the clicks of safety belts being undone fills the air with tinny noise, the shouts and cries of congratulations and gratitude intermixed with sniffles and laughter. Around them, everyone is shooting out of their cramped seated position, standing up and throwing their arms around each other. The two of them stay seated though, wrapped up in one another’s arms in a sea of shifting legs. To the left of them, a man swoops his young daughter up in his arms and twirls her around as she screams with laughter.

The scene fills her with as much joy as it does a desperate kind of longing. She thinks of Clarke, of wanting nothing more than to bundle up her up in her arms and whisper over and over how much she loves her; but still, she cannot block out the bitterness in Clarke’s last words to her, the jagged rift torn open by a truth she can’t look away from.

Marcus must sense the change in her mood and moves away from her - just enough to look her in the eyes, though she doesn’t let him far enough away from her to break the embrace.

He casts a glance around them, then brushes a kiss across her lips. It’s exactly what it should be, given where they’re currently situated.

It doesn’t keep her from wanting more, though.

“We’ll find Clarke, Abby,” he murmurs, his eyes searching hers, his expression in equal parts earnest and fierce. “I promise.”

* * *

Abby breathes out heavily and nods, leaning forward to rest her forehead on his.

They stay like that for a long moment, folded up in one another, breathing in one another’s fears and hopes and desires. He knows that he should break away, that in the next moment someone will look down at their feet and see their two councilors wrapped up in one another.

But he can’t quite bring himself to do so. There’s a stunning sort of certainty in her arms that clashes with the uncertainty of the ground. That it’s only been a little over a week since he was crawling through that broiling air shaft to save her seems nearly impossible to him. It’s as if his arms have always known how to wrap around her shoulders, that his hands have always known the feel of her hair through his fingers.

He feels a gentle nudge of a boot into his thigh and tips his head up to look at Sinclair. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips as his eyes flicker between the two of them, the expression turning almost to warning as he sweeps his eyes up at the throng of people celebrating around them.

Marcus swallows back his sigh and he shifts slightly away from Abby, opening a gap between them. He keeps his arm around her, though, looped low around her waist, while her hand rests lightly on the edge of his knee, her fingertips worrying a fraying hole.

“I need to do a landing check on the ship,” Sinclair says, his fingers flying over the data pad, “so I need one of you to try and see if you can get in touch with Jaha.”

He blinks suddenly and feels guilt and shame rushing through him as the mention of the Jaha’s name. Abby must see it, because in the next moment he feels her fingers threading their way through his. He looks over at her, grateful, and squeezes her hand before tapping at the receiver in his ear, finds nothing ringing back into his ear except silence.

“I don’t think my radio is working any more.”

Sinclair nods.

“I figured it’d happen to a few of ours.”

“Mine is just static,” Abby says, frowning.

At this, Sinclair’s eyes brighten. He looks back down at the datapad, then motions over to the outside hatch.

“It’s might be the lead of the ship interfering. You might have better luck outside.” He looks over at them, a small smile playing at his lips. “Why don’t the two of you go outside and check it out? I’ll keep everyone in here until we know that it’s safe.”

Abby nods, then gets up slowly, tugging Marcus up with her. She bounces on her heels like a small, eager child, her eyes lit with excitement. Sinclair rolls his eyes, reaching over and tugging at her braid in a playful sort of way that makes Marcus raise a brow. Playful and Sinclair are two words he’d never put together in his own mind, but there’s no other way to describe the interaction before him.

Abby responds to Sinclair’s gesture by sticking her tongue out at him and, to Marcus’ great surprise, Sinclair responds in turn, prompting a delighted clap of laughter from Abby.

He smiles over at both of them, though a part of him feels almost jealous in a way. Not at their friendship or their closeness, but at the obvious fact that the closeness between them is so easy, their long history together a benefit and a strength. The weight of all they’ve shared will never be a burden to shoulder the way it is for him and Abby; there will never be past versions of themselves that serve as complications.

A shove from behind brings him out of his musing. He looks up and sees that Abby had already charged on ahead through the crowd and is waiting expectantly for him at the base of the ladder to the hatch.

“Maybe think whatever morose thoughts you’re having later,” Sinclair says wryly, stepping in closer to him to make up for the lowered tenor of his voice. He keeps his eyes on the data pad before him, though he tilts his head in Abby’s direction. “I’m guessing you two won’t get a lot of alone time later on, so just be in the moment for now.”

Marcus blinks rapidly at the other man before he nods, clears his throat and waits for Sinclair to look up at him.

“Thank you, Sinclair,” He says, hoping that Sinclair understands him enough to know just what he means.

Sinclair huffs a laugh at him and nods, nudging him in Abby’s direction.

“Go. Figure out where we’re at. See if you can contact any of the other stations while you’re up there.”

Marcus nods and then walks swiftly over to where Abby is waiting for him.

“Ready?”

She nods, apparently too excited to speak, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed in a way that makes him want to grab her close and run his hands through her hair and kiss her.

He does none of these things, just twists one hand in the hem of his shirt and smiles at her. He gestures to the ladder, motioning for her to climb up before him.

She practically leaps up on the the metal rungs, her arms and legs a blur of movement as she climbs up. He expects her to rush out of the hatch and into the outside world, but instead she looks down at him still standing at the base of the steps and furrows her brows at him. He suppresses a smile and climbs up, shuffling past her on the narrow walkway and standing shoulder to shoulder with her at the hatch.

“I thought you might like the chance to experience your first few moments on the ground on your own,” he says, glancing over at her. It’s not as monumental as it could be, he knows. After all, the delinquents have been on the ground for weeks now and even before them, the ground hasn’t been as empty as it always seemed in his dreams.

Still, there’s something extraordinary about being the first of the station to step outside, of potentially being the first of their transitional generation to take steps towards a life of permanence. He thinks that there’s no one better than Abby to be the first to take that first step, to inhale that first breath of fresh air, to feel the warmth of a sun they’ve only ever seen in the coldness of space.

But she just shakes her head and smiles at him, reaching to brush her fingers against the back of his hand.

“I’d rather do this - share this - together.”

Something in his chest tightens at the words and he simply nods as she reaches up and taps in the unlock code for the hatch. There’s a slow clicking sound of the lock engaging, then a hiss as the door shifts and unlocks. She looks over at him excitedly before pushing the door up and open, throwing her weight against it as the ancient metal creaks outward.

Air rushes over both their faces, a warm breeze shifting the hair that’s curled around Abby’s face. She lets out a surprised sound of joy, her eyes lighting up as she looks over at him.

This time, he can’t help it - he shifts closer to her and brushes a quick kiss across her mouth, his lips curving up into a smile against her own.

“Go on,” he says quietly, unable to look away from the warmth in her gaze even as the open sky glitters above them. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She scrambles out through the open exit and he follows, climbing quickly out of the bright doorway and clambering onto the worn metal of the station.

She lets out a noise that seems to be part gasp, part sob, her eyes wide as she takes in the world. He knows he should be taking in the same sight - the lushness of the trees, the way the light reflects off the lake around them - but all he can see is Abby and the way the sunlight filters through her eyelashes, how she tips her head up and lets the breeze ruffle through her hair.

She turns towards him and laughs, the sound so purely joyful, so filled with delight that he can’t help but wrap his arms around her. Her own arms immediately find their way around his shoulders, her fingers twisting in his hair as he lifts her up off the ground and spins them both around like they’ve both gone twenty years back in time. She shrieks with laughter and for a moment all he can think is that the sound is somehow sweeter in the open air and warm sunlight.

The minute he sets her down, she presses her body closer to him, crashing her lips against his in a kiss that tastes like redemption and feels like sunshine. In it, he pours his own hopes, lets himself indulge in every feeling of want and longing and tenderness. Allows himself to think of nothing but the feel of her in his arms.

Allows himself to think that he might somehow, someday deserve it.

* * *

 

A faint, staticky rumbling in her ear causes her to slowly, reluctantly back away from the kiss. She rests her forehead against his for a moment, breathing him in, feeling the sunlight against her skin. She opens her eyes and looks up at him, catches a soft look that makes her chest ache with tenderness.

She almost kisses him again before she hears a screech of feedback in her ear that makes her jerk away suddenly, one hand pressed to the side of her head. There’s a crackle of feedback before she hears a voice - faint and garbled - but a voice all the same.

She steps away from Marcus but reaches down to wrap her hand around his, walking around the top of the ship as she tries to find a spot where the static dissipates enough for her to hear the voice in her earpiece clearly.

“Mecha station is on the ground,” she says, loudly and clearly. “Repeat - Mecha station is on the ground.”

There’s another loud crackling sound before the sound disappears completely, then -

“Abby, it’s so good to hear your voice,” Jaha says, relief evident in the low tenor of his words.

She breathes out a sigh and smiles at Marcus as she presses the earpiece.

“Yours, too. We made it, Thelonious.” She catches the expression on Marcus’ face and reaches out to grab his hand, squeezing it tightly before she speaks. “Any word from any of the other stations yet?”

“No.” Jaha says, and her heart sinks a little. “Just you so far. Can you see any sign of them?”

She looks away from Marcus to scan the horizon again, her breath catching at a view she never thought she’d live to see.

Jaha breathes out tremulously in her ear.

“Tell me what it's like.”

She squeezes Marcus’ hand one more time before she lets go and walks further out on the platform. She lets her eyes roam over the impossibility of it all: the colors are so bright they seem unreal, trees and mountains and lakes that she’s only ever seen in photos and books. She has to take a deep breath just to keep from bursting into tears. She doesn’t know if she has the words to describe everything that she’s seeing.

“It's... everything I dreamed,” she manages to say, her throat tight with emotion. “So much green. There are trees everywhere. And water. And the air. The air... smells... sweet. It's so beautiful.”

Tears gather in her eyes and she ducks her head for a moment, not wanting Marcus to see her tears. She’s grateful and relieved that she’s here with him, his hand in hers, a dreamed-of world around them. Still, she’s known Thelonious almost her entire life - has spent more time with him now than anyone living - and the absence of him, the weight of his sacrifice, suddenly hits her hard. “Thelonious,” she says and can’t help it when her voice shakes, “you should be here.”

He breathes out unsteadily and is quiet for a moment, but when he speaks, his voice is strong and firm.

“I meant what I said before, Abby - I’m right where I need to be.”

She makes a sound that’s halfway to a sob, but manages just barely to keep her tears at bay.

She hears Marcus call her name out from behind her and quickly scrubs her hand across her eyes before she turns to face him.

He takes in the look on her face, his expression falling into misery for a moment before his features smooth out once more. He points to a place in the trees just to her left where there’s a plume of smoking rising up into the skyline.

Her eyes widen, her heart jumping up suddenly in her chest. She touches the earpiece once again.

“Marcus found smoke in the distance,” she says to Thelonious, “that might be another station. We'll check it out.”

Thelonious gives a hum of agreement, then clears his throat.

“Abby, does Marcus still have his radio?”

She looks over at Marcus, who’s standing near the edge of the ship’s platform and staring down at the lake with an expression of awe. It makes him look younger, more like the young boy she’s only heard of but never knew - the one who used to spend hours drawing a world he thought he’d never see, who felt a sense of hope that she once would’ve said he was no longer capable of.

She watches as he reaches into his pocket and takes out a small metal bolt, dropping it over the edge of the ship into the water below. She leans over the edge to watch it fall and looks back over at him, finds that she can’t help but laugh when his face breaks into wide smile as he watches the ripples in the lake spread out below them.

“Abby?”

She starts at the sound of Thelonious’ voice and turns away from Marcus, her cheeks flushed even though there’s no one else around but the two of them.

“His radio went out, but I can lend him mine.”

“Please.”

She calls out to Marcus and motions for him to come over, tapping the earpiece when he lifts his eyebrows in a questioning gesture.

“He’s coming over.”

“Thank you.” He lets out a breath. “Find the rest of our people, Abby. Find Clarke.” There’s a tone of finality to his voice that makes her heart clench. “May we meet again.”

She grits her teeth and forces herself to swallow back the tears in her reply.

“May we meet again, Thelonious,” she says, her voice trembling slightly on the last syllable of his name.

She rubs her hand across her eyes as she pulls the radio out of her ear. She looks over at Marcus and smiles tremulously before pressing the radio into his hands and walking to the opposite side of the ship.

She closes her eyes as she tips her head up to the sky and mouths a silent Traveler’s Blessing to everyone they had to say goodbye to so that she could have this moment on the ground.

* * *

He puts the earpiece in and turns to face the smoke in the distance. His earlier sense of wonder fading out and replaced by a rising feeling of shame that tastes bitter in the back of his throat.

“Sir.”

Jaha chuckles softly in his ear.

“I think it should be the me calling you that,” he says, a wry undercurrent to his words. “After all, you’re the Chancellor now, Marcus.”

He swallows thickly, the bitterness of shame no longer just in the back of his throat, but settling into his skin and fusing to his bones.

“It should be me up there, sir,” he replies, unable to accept a position of leadership he knows he doesn’t deserve. He’s never wanted power - not for its own sake, at least. He’d only ever wanted what was best for their people. Right now, he’s sure that Jaha is standing where he should’ve been. “Our people need you here.”

“Our people don’t need me, Marcus - they need a leader.” He’s makes a sound of disagreement, but Jaha ignores him and continues on in a voice that brooks no argument. “And they have that - with you, with Abby. As long as you work together, everything will be ok.” Jaha pauses, then laughs in a way that takes Marcus by surprise. “You know, it wasn’t that long ago where I’d have to convince both of you of the merits of working together. But now - now I don’t think I actually need to, do I?” He phrases it as a question, but there’s an almost teasing note to his words that makes Marcus think he isn’t actually looking for an answer, though he gives one anyway.

“No, sir.” He looks down at hands that should be raw with burns and flexes his fingers, watching the smooth skin move over the muscles in his hands. “No you don’t.”

Jaha huffs a laugh.

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you after the Unity Day bombing,” Jaha remarks after a moment and Marcus has to cough to cover up his noise of surprise, “but I’m glad. Together, you’ll help them to do more than just survive, you’ll help them build a life - something we never could do up here.”

He breathes out heavily, shaking his head even though he knows Jaha can’t see him.

“I’m not sure how much I know about building a life, sir,” he says, his voice steady. He thinks that other, better men might be ashamed to say that out loud, but he’s always prided himself on his honesty. His aim on the Ark had been survival - breaking down every non-essential part of the Ark, of their resources, of himself.

“You’ll figure it out, Marcus. I have full faith in you.” He pauses for a quick moment, then continues on with a teasing kind of warmth in his tone. “And I think you’ll find love to be a pretty good motivator when it comes to building a future.”

He makes a noise that should be denial, but feels strangely close to embarrassment.

Jaha chuckles.

“You’ve never done anything in your life by halves, Marcus. It’s what I’ve always liked about you.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, just turns and looks over at Abby. Her back is to him, face tipped up to the sky, eyes closed. She’s radiant in the sunlight, even with her hair in a wild tangle around her face and trail of dirt and grime smeared across her cheek.

“Tell me, Marcus,” Jaha rumbles in his ear, “is it everything you dreamed it would be?”

Abby turns around and catches him looking at her. She smiles at him, and even if it’s a watery, shaky thing, it’s real and tender and meant for him.

He clears his throat and looks away from her, tilts his head up to the sky above him.

“It’s more, sir. It’s - it’s more than I deserve.”

Jaha makes a humming sound that is somehow both one of agreement and refutation.

“It’s hard to know what anyone deserves - we just have to do what we can with what we’re given.” He pauses, then continues on in a softer voice. “I know that our people are in good hands with you, Marcus.” He breathes out heavily. “May we meet again.”

The words hang between them, heavy with goodbye and expectation and sacrifice.

“May we meet again,” he replies, his voice steady and sure even as he feels the mantle of leadership settle on him, rough and ill-fitting.

The radio crackles, then fades out to static. He takes it out of his ear and stares at it, turning it over in his hands. He looks back up towards the sky and thinks about Jaha alone in the darkened, silent skeleton of the Ark.

“Is he gone?”

He turns and sees Abby next to him, her eyes rimmed red.

He nods and hands her back the radio. She traps his hand in hers and tugs him closer to her. He moves reluctantly, but can’t find it in him to meet her gaze.

“Marcus?”

She tips his head down and looks him in the eye, a worried expression on her face.

He breathes out heavily.

“It should’ve been me up there, Abby.” He smiles at her mirthlessly. “Jaha’s the one we need down here, not me.”

Her expression turns fierce, almost angry.

“Stop, Marcus. You can’t do this.” She steps in closer to him and forces him to look at her. “We can’t do this if you spend all your time believing that you should’ve died up in space. You’re here now. We’re here now - together - and it’s - we’re - this - .” She grows increasingly frustrated with each word and he finds it so absurdly endearing that he reaches up to cup her face in his hands and presses his forehead against hers.

“I’m glad I’m here with you, Abby,” he says, the only true phrase that he can give her right now. She looks up expectantly at him, waiting for more, but he just ducks down to brush a kiss against her lips. He leaves all the other thoughts crowding his brain lodged in the back of his throat.

Her expression softens as she lifts a hand to brush her fingertips against his cheek.

“No matter what, we have to be in this together. Ok?”

She’s staring up at him, her warm brown eyes ringed with intensity and vulnerability all at once. He thinks he’d promise anything to her in this moment, no matter how outlandish.

“Together,” he says, punctuating the word with another kiss. “No matter what.”


	2. Blood

He watches Abby out of the corner of his eye.

Her earlier sense of wonder and awe at their surroundings is gone, replaced by a grim look of determination as she forges ahead through the underbrush. He’s following closely behind her, gun in hand, eyes darting through the trees but always drawn back to her.

“You really aren’t trying to hide it,” Sinclair murmurs next to him.

Marcus glances over at him, shaking his head at the other man’s grin.

“I’m trying to keep us all safe. If Abby wants to march up ahead, there’s not much you and I can do to stop her.” He picks up the pace as Abby disappears over a ridge with two guards at her side. “But I can at least cover her.”

“Right,” Sinclair says, dragging out the vowel sound of the word, “that’s definitely why you can’t keep your eyes off of her.”

They march forward in silence for a few moments, Marcus shouldering his gun, Sinclair glancing down at his datapad every so often.

Marcus clears his throat.

“Any other word from Jaha?”

Sinclair shakes his head.

“Still radio silence.” He taps at the screen a few times. “We’ve been able to communicate with Alpha station just fine and the GoSci signal shows up strong. If we can’t communicate with him, it’s because he doesn’t want us to.”

Marcus sighs.

“Keep trying, if you can.”

Sinclair nods.

“I will.” He glances over at Marcus with a raised eyebrow. “Sir.”

Marcus stumbles over the uneven ground and furrows his brow at the other man.

“You are the Chancellor now, aren’t you?”

“I shouldn’t be.”

Sinclair shrugs his shoulders.

“But you are.” He tilts his head and looks appraisingly at him. “And for whatever it’s worth, I think we’re in good hands.”

The words fill him with a pleasant kind of warmth. He’s always respected Sinclair, but it hits him suddenly that the man beside him might be the closest thing he has left to a friend.

“It’s worth a lot,” he says, the corner of his mouth turning up, “even if I can’t really agree.” He hops over a protruding branch and turns away from Sinclair, eyes scanning the horizon. “You and I both know that Jaha would’ve been the better man to help us build a life down here. He would’ve known how.”

Sinclair snorts.

“None of us know how to build a life, Marcus. Why should you be worse than any one else down here?” Sinclair takes in Marcus’ expression and shakes his head. “The way I see it, given everything you’ve done - you might be better than any of us at building a life.”

He furrows his brow at that.

“Why is that?”

Sinclair glances over at him, his expression open and unflinching.

“Because you know what it costs to only care about survival.”

The words stop him completely in his tracks. They’re are nothing but true - bold in a way that most people wouldn’t normally attempt, honest in a way that might be taken as an insult or criticism if Sinclair had pushed even a little malice into the words.

Except that he didn’t. They were only an observation - a simple, succinct summation of all he’d been on the Ark. And yet they provide a perspective Marcus doesn’t think he’d ever reach on his own. Gives him hope for a future that just five minutes ago he doesn’t think he’d be capable of having.

If he were the hugging type, he’d reach over and hug Sinclair.

He isn’t, though, so he just claps the other man on his shoulder and nods.

“Thank you,” he says, and lifts the corner of his mouth in a half smile.

Sinclair nods.

“You’re welcome.” He looks over to his right and jerks his head. “Now, c’mon. Abby’s almost out of our sight.”

He glances up and sees that Abby is far ahead of them, flanked still by the guard detail he’d assigned to her, but still too far for comfort. He shoulders his rifle once more and starts off towards her, nearly breaking into a run when he sees one of the guards reach out a hand to stop her from stepping forward.

He motions for Sinclair to stay behind with the group of civilians behind them and sprints forward to where Abby and the guards are standing.

He slows down a few feet from them, careful to keep his footsteps soft, watching to step only on green underbrush to keep from making too much noise. He shoulders his rifle and walks the last few steps forward as slowly as possible, his eyes trained ahead of him. Just through the trees, he sees what has stopped them: a tall man in black clothes holding a sword - a grounder, he assumed - and two young men with their hands tied standing next to a horse. Even from where he’s standing he can see that both their faces are a mess of blood and bruises.

“Abby,” he says quietly, glancing over at her “I need you to fall back to the group. They’re just beyond that copse of trees.”

She nods and backs away from him slowly. He waits until she disappears back behind the treeline before he creeps forward, motioning for the four other guards to flank him. He crouches low as he looks through the scope on his rifle, centering the grounder in his sights. There’s a wicked looking sword at the other man’s waist, what looks to be a knife clenched tightly in his hand. He moves gracefully, quick on his feet, and it makes Marcus hesitate to pull the trigger. He’s a good shot, but he’s not sure if the grounder is wearing any body armor or how fast he might lash out at the two prisoners next to him if he were shot but not immediately killed.

The decision is made for him when in the next moment, two young teens come charging out of the trees, screaming in what he’s sure is pure fear and adrenaline. The grounder grins, planting his feet firmly as he pulls out his sword and squares his shoulders.

Marcus leaps forward and steadies himself, sighting the grounder’s chest dead in the center of his scope and pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, cracking through the trees. The two bloodied prisoners drop to the ground as the charging teens freeze in their place. The grounder looks down at his chest, stunned as blood spurts from the hole in his chest.

Marcus exhales and shifts his rifle up until he’s looking at the grounder square in the forehead and squeezes the trigger again.

The warrior drops to the ground, bits of skull and brain leaking onto the forest floor. The two prisoners look up from where they’d dropped to the ground, dazed, one of them seemingly barely holding on to consciousness.

He moves slowly forward towards, finger still on the trigger, rifle planted firmly against his shoulder. He steps into the clearing, flanked by six other guards and meets the gaze of one of the prisoners.

“We’re here now,” he announces, moving his gun away from his face until it’s pointing at the ground. He nods at the two boys and forces a mollifying expression on his face, trying to convince them of words he’s not quite sure he himself believes.

“Everything’s gonna be ok.”

* * *

She hears two shots ring out, then silence.

She shifts back and forth on the balls of her feet and glances over at Vera, who simply grabs her hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

They hear a whistle come through the trees and she all but leaps forward towards the open clearing. She glances over at Marcus, who nods over at her as he crouches over the body of a dead grounder, before rushing over to a young man who’s stumbling up with the help of another teen. Both of their faces are covered in blood, though the one directly in front of her is so bloodied she can barely make out the expression on his face.

“Don’t stand up,” she says, reaching a hand out to steady the swaying teen.

“I’m fine,” he replies. She raises a brow at him and thinks that no one’s ever looked less fine than he does right now. He stumbles a bit, then rights himself. She’s close enough now to see that the expression on his face is half exhaustion, half sheer determination. “We need to get back to the dropship.”

Her heart leaps in her chest.

“Where’s Clarke? Is she alright?”

“She was when we left,” says the other teen next to her, “We'll take you to her.”

Marcus comes up next to her.

“Wait. Slow down.” He calls over to Jacapo, who comes rushing over. “Sinclair. We're splitting up. One guard detail comes with me to the Dropship. Everyone else here goes with you to Alpha Station. You have the coordinates.” Jac nods. “We'll follow - as soon as we can,” Marcus finishes up.

He moves away from them, talking to Jac in low tones. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Vera go up to the two men. She watches as Marcus’ expression goes from placid to murderous in the entire span of half a minute, his arms gesticulating wildly in Vera’s direction as she simply looks at Marcus and nods indulgently before speaking. Abby turns away with a grin. Whatever it is Vera is asking for, Abby is almost positive she’ll get it.

She faces the two young men in front of her.

“I’m Abby. Clarke’s - .”

“Mom,”says the young man whose face is slightly less bloody next to her. “And you sent Raven down to us.” He smiles at her and sticks his hand out awkwardly to shake hers. “I’m Finn.”

Ah. She shakes his hand and studies him, this boy who Raven braved space for.

Finn clears his throat and nudges the young man next to him.

“Bellamy,” he says, not taking his eyes off the cluster of trees in front of him. Finn clears his throat again and Bellamy manages to tear his eyes away from the treeline to meet Abby’s gaze. “Clarke will be glad to see you. She thought you’d crashed with the Exodus ship.” He looks over to where Marcus and Vera are arguing, with Jacapo looking on with a tightly pressed smile on his face. “What’s going on? We need to get going.”

Just then, Marcus nods tersely and walks towards them. Jac shoots her an amused look and shrugs his shoulders before turning away to lead the rest of the group the opposite direction.

“Everything ok?” She asks as Marcus gets to their group.

He looks over at her and nods, though she thinks it must actually cause him physical pain to do so.

“Mom’s coming with us.” He turns towards Bellamy. “Let’s go. You two - “

“Bellamy and Finn,” she interjects.

He glances over at her and nods, the tightness in his shoulders loosening a bit.

“Bellamy and Finn,” he repeats, his tone now less of a order and closer to a request as he gestures in front of him. “Lead the way.”

The two boys nod and set off to the north. Marcus shoulders his rifle and smiles at her.

“You're almost there, Abby.”

She almost reaches out to rest her hand on his arm, but then looks around warily to the guards and flexes her hand instead.

“ _We’re_ almost there, Marcus.” She tips her head in the direction of the two boys. “Go. I’ll walk with Vera.”

He sighs in a way that can only be described as long suffering and nods before he marches off in the direction of Finn and Bellamy.

She waits for Vera to catch up to her and raises a brow.

“I can’t believe you convinced Marcus to let you come to the dropship.”

“Not even Marcus can say no to his mother,” Vera replies, falling into step with her.

“Especially not when his mother is an empath.”

“For shame,” Vera says, looking affronted. “I just mentioned that I imagine there’ll be rather strong emotional echoes where we’re headed. And it’s a lot easier and more accurate to see echoes than it is to rely on narratives.”

“Accurate is stretching it a bit, don’t you think?”

Vera shrugs.

“I said _more_ accurate.”

Abby huffs a laugh, though the sound dies on her lips when they make it over the next rise.

There are bodies of teens everywhere around her, pierced through with arrows and spears and swords. She grits her teeth and speeds up, crouching down against fallen tree trunks with Marcus and the rest of the guards.

Bellamy rocks on his heels.

“It’s too quiet,” he says, obviously agitated as he looks over at Finn. He jumps forward towards the makeshift barricade at the top of the hill, stopping only when Marcus reaches out and pulls him back.

“We’ll take it from here,” he says, then calls over to the guards behind them and begins scaling the small hill.

She looks over at Vera and follows closely behind them, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as they pick their way through the barricade. On the other side is a wide open space of the camp, the dropship rising up in front of her. It’s eerily quiet in the camp, no sign of life any where and only badly charred bodies surrounding the outers edges of the dropship.

Marcus looks worriedly over at her as he heads towards the ramp of the ship, signaling the guards to go ahead of them.

Two guards come from behind her and disappear onto the other side of the brightly colored tarp. She barely hears them call out clear before she follows Marcus into the dropship.

The first thing she sees in the bloodied boy, his legs sprawled in front of him. Next to him is Raven, a pool of blood around her but no wound that she can see from where she’s at. Raven is sitting up, but even from where Abby’s standing she can see that her eyes are glazed over in pain.

The boy jumps up when he sees them and rushes over to them.

“I tried to help her - I thought I did - but she’s still in pain and she can’t get up and I don’t know what to do.” He looks over to where Raven is sitting, and the lines of his face fall into guilt and shame. “Help her, please.”

Abby rushes over to Raven.

“Raven, honey,” she cups the younger woman’s face in her hands, startled at how hot her skin is. “It’s Abby.

“Clarke's not here,” Raven says, her voice tinged with pain. “I don't know where she is.”

She sucks in a deep breath, her heart weighed down with disappointment. Still, she knows now is not the time to dwell too heavily on it - not when Raven is so obviously in pain.

“What happened to you?”

Raven’s eyes flicker over to the boy on the other side of the ship.

“I…I got shot,” she says firmly, her eyes darting back up to Abby’s. “I got shot.” She offers no other explanations, though Abby can feel an undertow of hesitation and tension in her answer.

“Where?”

“My back.” She hesitates and stares over at the other boy, whose face goes white under the mask of blood. He grits his teeth to try and stop it, but Abby can tell that he’s shaking. “Murphy, he - he tried to - he helped. But it still hurts so much.”

Abby furrows her brow and twists down to check Raven’s back. There’s no wound, though there’s a bruised, bumpy area on her lower back and blood soaking the entire bottom half of her shirt. She reaches out with her magic and probes the area, her powers confirming what she’d suspected since walking in the door. She takes a deep breath and turns to face Murphy, studying him closely. His name sets off a tickle of recognition in her mind.

“John,” she says, the name suddenly coming back to her from the roster, “John Murphy?”

He nods.

She remembers his father, Alden, a powerful witch in his own right who died stealing medicine for the young boy in front of her.

A young boy with a deathly high fever who ended up recovering all on his own, from what she can recall.

She glances at the two guards standing by the entrance.

“I need you two to get a stretcher,” she says, motioning for Marcus to stand guard by the door as she walks over to where John is standing, his eyes darting anxiously like an animal in a trap.

“John,” she says quietly, her voice soothing, “it’s ok. I just need you to tell me what you did to help Raven.”

He shifts uneasily on his feet, a nervous kind of energy to him that makes her think he’s either ready to flee or fight and isn’t sure which one he’s decided on yet. Marcus must see it too, because she watches as he very carefully sets his gun down and shifts so that he’s only lightly resting on his feet, ready to leap forward at the snap of a moment.

“John,” she murmurs, her voice as gentle as possible, “I need to know what you did so that I can figure out how to help Raven.”

He looks over at Raven, then back at her, starts shaking again in what looks like a combination of nerves and fear and adrenaline.

“I tried to help her,” he finally says, the words seemingly ripped from him. He clenches his fists. “But I fucked it up. She’s still hurt.”

“How did you help her?”

Of course she knows how he did, but she needs him to tell her exactly what he did so that she can trace over his steps, see where he might have gone wrong.

“I can’t - ,” he swallows thickly. “I can’t tell you. I - I don’t know - how - ”

His face is so white now that she’s afraid he might pass out from lack of blood. He’s swaying on his feet, his entire body crackling with terror, his eyes blown wide with panic and fear.

It’s a fear that’s all too familiar to her.

She slowly puts her hands in front of her.

“John, it’s ok. You don’t need to be afraid.”

Slowly, by inches so that she doesn’t startle him with her movements, she brings one hand down onto the knife that’s strapped to her waist. She’s glad now that she opted for it rather than the gun that Marcus had offered to her when they set out from Mecha station. A gun would make the same point, but it’d be a little overdramatic for what she’s trying to prove.

She unclips the knife from her waist and slowly brings it up in front of her, careful to face the gleaming edge away from him.

With one quick movement, she slashes a long deep X into the palm of her hand, flinching at the pain. Raven gasps from behind her at the same time Marcus cries out “Abby” and leaps forward.

John steps back, his eyes wide with shock.

She drops the knife and holds her free hand up to Marcus, shaking her head to stop him. Then she looks over at John and tilts her bleeding palm outwards him. She takes a deep breath and turns her attention on the wound, exhaling as she focuses on knitting the torn muscle and broken skin back together. It only takes a minute for the skin on her hand to repair itself and when she’s done, she rubs the blood onto her pants and opens her hand back up, flexing it into a fist and open again.

It’s smooth and unbroken, the only sign that she’d ever been hurt are a few traces of dried blood that she couldn’t wipe away.

“You’re alright, John. You don’t need to be afraid,” she soothes as she reaches out with her now-healed hand. “I’m just like you.”

* * *

 

He watches as the boy’s - John Murphy, he amends in his head - shoulders suddenly drop, his entire body going slack as he lets out a shuddering breath.

The lighting is dim in the dropship, but even from where he’s standing he’s sure that he can see tears in the young man’s eyes.

“I didn’t think there was anyone else,” he says, swallowing thickly. “My mother always said that they’d kill me if they found out.” He barks out a laugh, a bitter sound that seems more filled with pain than anything. “I’m actually surprised she didn’t turn me in herself.”

A dark look passes over Abby’s face as she gives John a reassuring squeeze before dropping her hand.

“There are more of us than you think, John.”

He looks at her and nods, then glances over to where Marcus is standing before turning his attention back to Raven.

“The bullet didn’t seem like it was too deep, so I thought I could get it out and stop the bleeding,” he looks down at his hands and frowns at them as though they’ve failed him. “I managed to lift it out - but not all of it.” He opens up his hand and shows Abby what looks to be a crumpled up bullet. “But I didn’t notice until I’d already closed up the wound. Even then, I’m not - I couldn’t do it as well as you did. But she was just bleeding so much and I was scared that she - that she wouldn’t make it if she kept bleeding.”

Abby nods at him.

“You did the right thing. She would’ve died if she had kept bleeding.”

He huffs out a sound of dismay and shakes his head.

“I fucked up. Otherwise she wouldn’t be in this much pain.”

Abby shakes her head, though he doesn’t think that it’s a trick of lighting when he sees her eyes slide away from John’s face for a moment before she speaks.

“Healing is tricky, John - even with what you and I can do.” Marcus sees the young man relax a bit more as he looks over at Raven, though there’s still an undercurrent of guilt in his expression. “If you hadn’t been here, she would’ve died.”

She gives John one last look of reassurance before she goes and kneels next to Raven, talking to her softly and prodding around where her wound should be. John looks at them both for a long moment, his fingers worrying the bullet casing. A look passes between the two teens and Raven gives John the slightest nod before turning back to face Abby. Marcus furrows his brow and thinks about the fear on John’s face when Abby had asked Raven what happened to her. It hadn’t been the cold terror of admitting what you were - that had come later in the exchange - but the white hot guilt of accepting what you’d done. At that moment, John turns around and Marcus catches his expression - a deep look of self-loathing and shame that feels both hauntingly familiar and all but confirms the theory in his head.

The two guards come back through the tarp with a stretcher, going immediately to where Abby is crouched over Raven. John backs out of their way and makes his way to where Marcus is standing, his fingers still passing the bullet between them.

He glances over at Marcus.

“So are you - whatever it is that Dr. Griffin and I are?”

“Witch is the preferred term, as far as I can tell.” He looks over at John and shakes his head. “And no, I’m not. I’m just someone who knows.”

“Huh.” His eyes dart back and forth between Marcus and Abby. “I’m guessing that isn’t normal.”

“No, it isn’t.” John looks shrewdly at him and Marcus heads him off before he asks too many questions he doesn’t really know the answers to. “I’m surprised that Abby didn’t know about you before now.” John tilts his head in confusion. “Apparently, powers manifest after an extremely high fever. Since Abby’s the doctor, she generally figures it out.”

John shrugs, though there’s a tension to his shoulders as he does.

“That fever got my father killed. The council floated him for trying to steal medicine for me.” There’s a sharpness to his words that doesn’t escape Marcus and that isn’t, as far as he’s concerned, undeserved. “My mom never forgave me for it and generally stopped giving a shit and doing things like taking me to the doctor.” He bites out a sharp laugh. “Funny how life works out. He got killed because he wanted to heal me and I lived to become a healer who hurts people.”

Marcus’ reply is interrupted by a loud groan of pain from Raven as the guards carefully lift the stretcher off the ground. They pass in front of the two men, Abby’s hand gripping Raven’s. Abby flicks her eyes up to Marcus,’ a questioning look in them that he returns with a faint nod.

He waits until the group disappears onto the other side of the tarp before stepping in front of John.

“You don’t have to be that person, John. We’re not on the Ark. Things can be different down here.”

John looks at him, eyes narrowed, then lets out a bitter laugh.

“It wasn’t the Ark that made me this way, it was the ground.” He shakes his head angrily. “You’ve been down here - what, three fucking seconds? You don’t know what we - what I’ve done to survive.” He looks away, his eyes focused on the bloodstained ground where Raven just was. “You don’t know what I’ve done just because it’s who I am.”

He gives John a long look, make sure to keep his face as open and free from judgment as possible.

“You shot Raven.” John freezes, then looks back at him, his eyes wide. “Didn’t you?”

John takes in his expression, then nods.

“I didn’t mean - I didn’t know it was her.” He runs his hands through his hair, then shakes his head wearily. “But I meant it when I pulled the trigger - I just thought I was shooting at someone else.”

“Why’d you take the shot?”

John shrugs.

“I’m an asshole.”

Marcus tilts his head at that, considering.

“And yet you came back and saved Raven’s life.”

John levels a sardonic smirk at him, though it’s pained and forced at the edges.

“That’s because I’m an asshole who didn’t want to die alone.”

He has the feeling that John says it with the expectation that he’ll recoil - and perhaps if he were a better man, he might. But the answer holds an unflinching kind of honesty that he appreciates.

“I voted to send you all down here with minimal training and minimal supplies because I didn’t actually think - didn’t actually care if you survived.” He crosses his arms in front of him. “I thought we were buying ourselves more time and more air, not finding a way to live on the ground.”

It’s an awful admission made worst by its sincerity, but he can see by the way John slowly nods at him that it was the right one to give.

He’s never been an overly demonstrative man, but he reaches over and lays a hand on John’s shoulder. He winces slightly, but then turns his eyes up to meet Marcus’ gaze.  
“We can be more than what we’ve done, John.”

John gives him a long, solemn look. There’s mostly doubt in his wide brown eyes, but Marcus thinks he sees the beginnings of hope - or else, the desire for it, the yearning for something _more_.

“Are you sure about that?”

Marcus nods, squeezing John’s shoulder once before dropping his hand and shouldering his rifle once more.

“We’ll have to be.” He looks around them, tries to imagine all that these teens have had to give up and sacrifice to even make it this far. He lets himself indulge in the acidic feeling of guilt in the back of his throat, a reminder of the cost of survival first, humanity second. He meets John’s eyes. “Otherwise, none of us will make it.”

* * *

 

She has the guards set Raven down and asks them to step away as she finds a way to carefully strap Raven down to the stretcher.

“So, you and Murphy - you’re like Clarke,” Raven says, looking up at her. “Or, I guess, Clarke’s like you two.”

She nearly drops the buckle in her hands.

“Clarke’s a witch?”

Raven nods, studying Abby’s face carefully.

“She didn’t realize it until she came down here - it makes sense, given what she can do.”

“And what can she do?”

“Call down lightning, kick up storms - anything with the weather.” She smiles. “It’s pretty badass, Abby.” The smile fades, a furry of worry between her brows. “She can’t control it, though - not like you or Murphy can. A lot of the kids down here can’t.”

“Who else?”

“Monty has a special connection with plants. Octavia can talk to animals. Harper can manipulate fire. There are a few others - Clarke made a list somewhere.”

She nods and continues to bind Raven securely to the stretcher, mulling over a series of questions in her mind. Finally, she looks up and tilts her head at Raven.

“And everyone just...knows? It’s all out in the open?”

Raven shrugs.

“There isn’t a lot of point hiding something that can work to our advantage.” She shifts and grimaces in pain. “Especially not when the other side could do everything we could - and do it better.”

“If everyone knows, then why was John so afraid to admit what he could do?”

Raven looks over to the entrance of the dropship, then back at Abby.

“You sent those kids down here to die, Abby.” She holds up her hand to stop the protest that’s on the tip of Abby’s tongue. “Maybe you didn’t, but you know damn well that the council did. And yeah, some of them were murderers or arsonists - but some of them stole medicine for their parents, or traded rations when their families ran low on food, or happened to be a second child. What they did made them a threat to the power structure and the council never cared about the difference.” She shifts on the stretcher, wincing in pain as she holds Abby’s stare. “So why would it start now?”

Before Abby can reply, there’s a commotion to the right of them. Abby turns and sees Bellamy and Finn popping up from a covered entrance, trailed closely by two guards. They spot Raven and rush to her.

“Where is everyone?” Bellamy asks as Finn drops down next to the stretcher.

Raven swallows and shakes her head.

“I don’t know. The fuel, the fire - it worked. But when the smoke cleared, everyone was gone.” She tries to sit up and only gets halfway before she has to stop, a grimace of pain set across the lines of her face. “It’s just me and Murphy here.”

At that moment, John and Marcus emerge from the dropship, deep in conversation. At the sight of them, Bellamy leaps up, his face contorting in rage.

“You murdering son of a bitch!” He yells out, rushing towards John, Finn close behind him.

John’s eyes widen as he takes a few steps backwards, his hands up in front of him. Marcus rushes forward and wraps his arms around Bellamy, locking them tightly as he forces Bellamy back.

“Stop, Bellamy. We’re not doing this here.”

Finn moves forward, reaching his hand out to Marcus.

“You don't understand. Murphy murdered two of our people.” He turns and motions to where Raven is sitting, her eyes darting between Bellamy and John. “He shot Raven. He tried to hang Bellamy. He - .”

“He saved Raven’s life,” Abby says, staring hard at Finn, who looks thrown off guard at her words.

“Raven’s life wouldn’t need saving if he hadn’t shot her,” Bellamy spits out, as he struggles against Marcus’ grip. “He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”

She watches as John fixes Bellamy with an acid stare and rushes up to push him away from advancing on Bellamy.

“And what do you deserve, Bellamy, huh? You tried to hang me for a crime I didn’t commit, then you basically gave me over to the grounders without a trial.” He holds up his hands, the fingers crooked in a way that’s almost grotesque. “Do you know the grounders broke each one of my fucking fingers, one by one? After, of course, they pulled off all my fingernails.” He rolls up his sleeves and Abby’s eyes go wide at the criss cross of barely healed cuts up his arms. “And after they found out I could heal? Boy, then the fun really began.”

Bellamy looks shaken at his words, and it’s as if all the anger has suddenly leaked out of him completely. He stops straining against Marcus’ grip, the expression on his face falling into lines of guilt.

“You know, you’re right - I don’t deserve their sympathy. I am a selfish asshole,” John says in a low tone, his voice devoid of either self-loathing or self-pity. “But at least I’m honest enough to admit it.” He backs away from Abby with his hands up, waiting until he’s a good five feet away before turning around and stalking over to the edge of the camp.

Abby watches him go with a deep ache of pity in her heart, then turns around to look at where Bellamy is standing.

He’s slumped against Marcus, his head hung low.

Marcus looks over at her with a questioning look but she just shakes her head. Now is not the time to figure out everything that’s happened in the three weeks the 100 have been on the ground. He nods and unlocks his arms from around Bellamy.

“C’mon,” he says, his voice more gentle than commanding. “We have to get moving - we want to make it to where Alpha station is before dark.”

The two boys nod and fall in line behind him.

She walks over to the dropship and takes out her knife, begins scratching out a message into the metal of the ship. Halfway through, she hears footsteps behind her.

“Thank you, Vera,” she says without turning around. “I think we would’ve had a full out brawl if hadn’t been for you.”

Vera nods.

“They were both telling the truth, you know.” She turns and looks to where John is standing, his eyes hooded and faraway, then shifts her gaze to where Bellamy is speaking to Raven. “Neither of them are innocent.”

She finishes up her message and sticks her knife back through her belt.

“But it’s us who are the guilty ones,” she says, reaching out to trace the shape of Clarke’s name in the hull of of the ship. “We sent those kids down here with nothing, Vera - no rules, no support, no hope. Their sins are ours, too.”

Vera reaches out and rests her hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“And their redemption will be, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos! I love hearing from you everyone! :)


	3. Bone

The march to Alpha station is quiet.

The guards are intent on screening the woods for potential threats and the delinquents are all hovering just beneath the edge of exhaustion.

He walks with his gun pressed to his chest, Abby on one side of him, his mother on the other.

One of the guards carrying Raven’s stretcher stumbles over an unseen root, causing her to cry out sharply in pain. Finn breaks away from Bellamy and jogs to catch up with her. He reaches down to hold her hand, but she simply moves it away from the edge of the stretcher and twists her fingers together.

He looks over at Abby and sees her looking at the interaction with a pensive look on her face. When she catches him looking at her, she raises an eyebrow.

“Looks like there’s a lot we have to catch up on.”

He huffs a laugh at the understatement, then glances over at his mother.

“I’m guessing right now isn’t the time to start asking questions?”

His mother shakes her head.

“It’s better if they can focus just telling their story - it’s easier for me to pick up on their emotional echoes.” She looks at the guards on either side of them. “I’m actually grateful that we aren’t talking to them at the drop ship. Even just standing there - .” She draws in a sharp breath. “It would’ve been hard to sort through all the emotions there - even for me.”

He gives her a long look, then shakes his head.

“So, I could’ve just sent you on to Alpha Station after all?”

She tilts her head at him.

“Well, you certainly tried, didn’t you?” She turns towards the the teens walking in front of them. “Bellamy is angry, impatient, exhausted and guilty. He’s made a decision recently that he isn’t sure is the right one. His emotions are strong, and they flare brightly and suddenly. They crowd everything else out until they’re all he can see.”

“The others look to him like he’s a leader,” Abby adds.

His mother nods.

“There’s a strong sense of duty to him, a feeling of responsibility. He’s ruled by his emotions, but that can be comforting for those who have been starved for them.” She glances over at Marcus. “Appealing to his logic won’t work - that isn’t what drives him. You’ll need to appeal to his emotions and his sense of duty to get him on your side.” She smiles at the question in his eyes. “And you will need him on your side. As Abby says, the others look to him as a leader. It’s better to leverage that than to fight against it.”

He nods slowly, then lets out a rueful laugh.

“Maybe you should’ve been the one on the council, mom.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“No, but I could’ve been more of a help to you these last few years.”

It’s about as pointed of a criticism as he’s gotten from her for his behavior in the last few years - his refusal to visit or include her in his life. He nods, the gesture somewhere between an apology and an agreement.

He motions towards the rest of the delinquents.

“What else?”

She studies John Murphy’s sullen, loping form.

“There’s a deep well of hurt in him that runs side by side with a deep reserve of bitterness. Underneath it all, it’s - it’s all self loathing.” She shakes her head, as though trying to clear it. “His emotions don’t flare brightly like Bellamy’s, but they run just as deeply. He’s less ruled by them in the moment, but they can simmer for a long time. I’m guessing that he’s the type who won’t retaliate in the moment, but will let a grudge fester and act on it at an opportune moment.” She stares thoughtfully at him. “There’s a certain…hardness - a streak of meanness in him. But there’s also a deep desire to prove himself - to be needed. To be wanted.”

“Given what he can do,” Marcus says, looking over at Abby, “I’m guessing he’ll definitely be needed.”

“And wanted,” Abby follows up, a fierce look in her eyes.

The corner of his mouth turns up in a slight smile as he nods.

“Of course.”

They walk in silence for a few moments. He thinks about the exhaustion that hangs on each of the young men and women in front of them - the sorrow in their eyes, the guilt in their footsteps. He thinks about his part in placing it there.

Shame gathers in the pit of his stomach as he recalls the callousness with which he voted to send them down to earth. They hadn’t been real human beings to him - not then. They had only been individual measurements of more time, more air, more resources.

He had watched the drop ship descend to Earth without any feeling of hesitation or regret, without a second thought at the fact that he was sending children down into the unknown with few supplies and even less preparation. Children, he thinks to himself, not criminals, because that’s who they had voted to send. Children who were mostly guilty of being young and acting it. Children who were only guilty of existing. It had been the only concession he’d made when they’d drawn up the plan to send the 100 to the ground - sending only those guilty of minor or non-violent crimes on the off-chance that they actually made it down alive and had to work out how to survive.

And they had, though he knows the cost must have been heavy.

It is a cost they shouldn’t have had to pay, he thinks, so it is cost he now bears responsibility for.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m guessing that you’ll need Raven in surgery to get the remainder of that bullet out,” he says to Abby, “and I’m also guessing that despite whatever it is they are to one another now, Finn will still want to be there with her.” He looks over at Bellamy, then shifts his gaze to John. “It’s probably best I talk to John and Bellamy first anyway - see if I can clear up the animosity between the two of them while I figure out what we’re up against.”

Abby nods.

“I’d like to treat John’s wounds first before you talk to him.” She looks at the young boy with sadness in her eyes, her brow furrowing when he shifts his pack on his back and winces in pain. “It’s easier to heal others than it is to heal yourself, so I want to check everything out before you start interrogating him.”

“It won’t be an interrogation,” he says quietly, though the words are firm. He nods at the look of surprise on Abby’s face. “It can’t just be about survival any more - we have to start working to build a life. Together.” Jaha’s words echo in his mind as he looks over at his mother. “And you’re right - it’ll be easier for all of us if we leverage what’s already here rather than trying to fight against it.” He shakes his head wearily. “We sent them down here unprepared and alone. The least we can do is listen to what they have to say.”

* * *

The sun is setting over remains of Alpha Station when they arrive.

Marcus breaks away from her and Vera to talk with Jacapo, who’s standing next to a metal worked sign that reads “Camp Jaha.” She smiles at it, though there’s a dull ache in her chest as she does.

In the next moment she hears her name and looks up just in time to see Jackson running up to her before he sweeps her up in a hug.

She throws her arms around his shoulders and holds him tightly, letting out a long sigh of relief. She’d purposefully had him assigned to Alpha station, knowing that it would be best to split up the only two doctors left on the Ark in case one of their ships had burned up on re-entry. It had been the right call, but she’d been filled with dread in the hour of so of radio silence they’d had to endure before locating Alpha station.

She backs away just enough to rest her hands on his shoulders and look him over carefully. There’s a long, wicked looking scrape along his forehead - not deep enough for stitches, but still deep enough to hurt.

He shrugs at the frown on her face.

“I’m fine, Abby.” He looks behind her - at the guards who are carrying Raven, the delinquents standing around awkwardly around her. “I wanted to be…rested in case you needed me.” His face falls. “No Clarke?”

She shakes her head, swallowing back the lump at her throat.

“Someone else got to her first,” she says, pressing her mouth into a thin line. “But we’ll find her.” She turns away from him, not wanting to see the questions in his eyes or the pity in his expression. She reminds herself to be strong - for Clarke, for herself, for all that they’ve sacrificed. She motions over to the guards. “I need you to get Raven to the medical bay. I’ll be there shortly.” The men nod and hurry away, Finn and Bellamy trailing behind them. John goes to follow but she calls out before he gets too far. “John - I’d like you to come with Jackson and me. I want to take a look at your injuries and do what I can to help.”

The two boys look at each warily, then nod.

Jackson gives her a questioning look.

“John - John Murphy - he’s like us,” she explains, dropping her voice even though there’s no one around them. Jackson’s eyes widen for a moment before he nods. He turns to stare at John, whose shifting uneasily under their combined gaze.

“His fingers didn’t heal right.” He squints and tilts his head. “And there are cuts up his arms and across his back that are hurting him. He healed the skin - somewhat - but everything beneath is still raw, though I don’t think it’s festering.” He turns towards her. “Abby, what happened to him?”

She sighs.

“He was taken prisoner by the grounders.” She walks over to John and motions him forward. Jackson is on the other side of him, undoubtedly still assessing the younger man’s wounds with his magic. John gives him a wary look which smooths itself out when Abby smiles at him.

“Jackson’s like us,” she tells him as they walk into the entrance of Alpha station.

John nods and walks quietly between the two of them, his shoulders slumped and his pack held out in front of him. Now that Abby closer to him, she can see the way he winces every time he shifts his shoulders. She asks Jackson to check on Raven, then directs John to her small doctor’s office across from the medical bay. She motions for him to sit down, locking the door behind her.

“So, has every doctor on the Ark been wi - been like us?”

He stumbles over the word witch and Abby has to smile. It can be a hard leap to make, she understands, to think of witches as something that exist - as something that you are - rather than a fairytale or a fantasy.

“Not every doctor, no. Even among the current staff, it was just Jackson and me.” She flexes her fingers and gestures for John to remove his jacket, which he does gingerly. She rolls up his sleeves and tries to stifle the sharp intake of breath at the sight of his arms. “Healing is very rare, even among witches, John.”

“How come - ,” he starts, then stops abruptly when there’s a knock at the door.   
  
“Abby? It’s Marcus.”

She furrows her brow in confusion before opening the door, and finds both him and Bellamy standing in front of her.

She raises an eyebrow at Marcus, who shoots her an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Jackson is taking care of Raven, so I didn’t want to ask him.” He gestures over to Bellamy, who’s staring straight ahead at John, his eyes wide at the criss cross of faintly healed cuts and raw wounds on his arm. “Bellamy has a pretty nasty head wound that won’t stop bleeding - I wanted to see if you could patch it up before I sit down to talk with him.”

She looks over at Bellamy, face now mostly clear of blood and dirt. There’s a gash across his forehead that could probably use stitches, a trail of blood coming from it that Bellamy hastily wipes away.

She nods and steps aside to let them in, gesturing for Bellamy to sit down in front of her.

“This will be quicker and easier than stitching you up, but it may feel a little strange at first.”

Bellamy nods, though there’s still a look of apprehension in his eyes.

She gives him a soothing smile before focusing on the cut across his forehead. It’s an easy fix, pulling the layers of skin back together again and she’s done before a full minute has passed. Bellamy looks up at her, shocked, as he prods the now smooth skin where the jagged cut used to be and stammers out an awed thank you.

She nods and hands him a rag so that he can clean up the remaining blood around his now smooth skin, turning slightly to face Marcus.

“I’ll send John to you both when I’m finished with him. It might - it will take a little bit. His injuries are pretty extensive.”

Marcus nods and turns towards Bellamy, obviously expecting them both to leave the room. Bellamy, however, shifts back and forth on his feet and runs his hand through his hair before meeting Abby’s eyes.

“Can I stay? It’s my fault that he got hurt. I think I should - I’d like to know what I put him through.”

She looks at him appraisingly, then turns and gives a questioning look to John, who simply shrugs.

“I don’t give a shit what anyone does, as long as I get fixed up.”

She nods.

“This might be easier if you take your shirt off, John. I know that your back and shoulders are bothering you, and it’s easier to heal everything at once.”

He takes his shirt off carefully, gingerly, his shoulders making a popping sound that she knows they should not be making. She only just stops herself from gasping out loud, though she hears Marcus swear softly behind her.

John’s back is a mass of half healed, raised scars and angry red wounds. There are long gashes that criss cross the broad expanse of his back and shoulders, like someone took a knife to him and started making haphazard cuts in every direction.

“They started out slow, you know? So I could heal those ones at first. But then - then when they realized what I was, what I could do…it became a game to them. Who could give me a cut that I couldn’t heal. Who could hurt me in a way that was more permanent.” There’s a nasty note of bitterness to his words as he speaks, and she doesn’t even have to turn and look to know that he’s staring directly at Bellamy as he says it. “Eventually I just stopped healing them. Or maybe I stopped being able to - I don’t know.” The bitterness leaks out from his voice. He just seems suddenly, overwhelmingly tired, a flattened affect to his voice that seems more out of self-preservation than anything. “Later - when they let me go, I just got to the ones that hurt me the most. I didn’t have enough energy or magic or whatever to get to all of them.”

She nods, a bitter taste of bile in the back of her mouth.

“You did a good job - none of them are infected - and it’s harder to heal what you can’t see. These deeper cuts though, John - I’ll have to go in and reconnect the tissue, the muscle, the nerves.” She breathes out heavily. “And when they dislocated your shoulder, they also tore some of the tendons and muscles that are there. That’s why it’s still hurting you.” She looks him straight in the eye. “I can fix everything, but it’ll hurt - a lot - putting those parts of you back together again.”

He lifts the corner of his mouth in a twisted smile.

“Can’t be as painful as what I went through the first time around - and I managed to survive. Do your worst, doctor.”

She nods, then sets her hands lightly on his shoulder. She feels a flush of warmth coursing through her as she focuses on knitting the torn tendons back together, finding the frayed ends of muscle and ligaments and weaving them back to support his shoulder socket. She knows it must hurt - grabbing at the torn edges, forcing them back into place - but John manages to stay still the entire time, the only sign of pain a quick clearing of his throat.

It’s slow work, but she can tell from the way he slowly stops holding his shoulder up that she’s doing a good job. While she doesn’t envy him the pain of having to do this without anesthesia, she can at least see the immediate effects of work and know when she’s on the right track.   
  
Once she’s satisfied with his shoulder, she moves to his back, prodding at the deepest cuts with her magic before repeating the same, slow process of knitting the broken ends underneath his skin back together again. When she’s done, she leans back against the table and flexes her fingers while John carefully shifts his shoulder, sighing in relief when it doesn’t pop. He straightens his back and stretches, a wide, genuine smile spreading slowly across his features when he’s able to do with without flinching.

He turns towards Abby and quickly swallows back his smile, as though he’s just been caught with something illicit. It a gesture that seems born more out of habit than of context, and the truth that it belies makes her heart ache.

“Thank you, Dr. Griffin. That - .” He shakes his head and huffs out a quick laugh. “I’d forgotten what it was like to move around and not feel pain.”

She smiles at him, then casts a critical look up his arms and down his back.

“I’m sorry but - it’s been too long. I won’t be able to get rid of the scars,” she says apologetically, but John only laughs.

“At least everyone will know that I’m a survivor, right?”

She smiles at that.

“That you are,” she says, reaching out to take his hands gently in hers. “I’ll need to re-break your fingers before I re-set them. It’ll hurt, but we’re - we don’t have anesthesia right now, so I’ll need you to focus on staying as still as possible so I can set the bones correctly. Do you want me to go one by one, or do them all at once?”

“All at once,” he replies quickly. “The Grounders went one by one and it - the anticipation makes it worse.”

She nods, then stares down at his hands, her magic feeling out the broken bones, the places where it had hastily regrown back. Each finger is broken in multiple places, one of them almost completely shattered. She bites back an angry sound and instead focuses on the path she needs to take to fix everything.

Finally, after a long, tense moment, she flicks her wrist and cleanly breaks every single finger in John’s hand.

The loud crack of ten different bones breaking at once reverberates in the small room, followed immediately by a sharp cry of pain from John. She doesn’t take the time to look at his face, which she knows must be contorted in pain, instead focusing on resetting each finger to its proper place, reaching out with her magic to speed up the healing process. Fingers are delicate work and she doesn’t want to do this over again. That does, however, mean taking longer than she’d like on each of the fine bones in his hands.

John whimpers once, then just sucks in a sharp breath as she moves from one finger to the next. She glances up at him and sees that he’s glassy eyed, lost in in some painful memory. He’s starts breathing heavily, then rocking in place, his entire body straining against his impulse to make noise.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Marcus come over and step next to John. She flicks her eyes up quickly and sees him rest his hand on John’s shoulder, hears him call softly to the younger man.

“It’s alright, John,” Marcus says, his voice low and soothing, “you’re ok. You’re safe. Just focus on me.”

She watches as the dazed look of horror leaves John’s eyes, the expression clearing as he lifts his head to meet Marcus’ gaze. He stops rocking back and forth and locks his arms into place, though he’s still breathing hard from the pain.

“It won’t hurt for much longer,” Marcus murmurs as he squeezes John’s shoulder reassuringly.

Abby drops her eyes back down, Marcus’ calming tone fading into the background as she refocuses on the fine structures of John’s hands. She traces the broken pieces and works to fit them back together. She can feel a cold numbness creeping up her arms by the time she lets go of his fingers, but she can tell by the way he lifts them up and wiggles them in front of him that she’s done a good job.

He swallows thickly, leaning heavily against the table in front of him before looking up and meeting her gaze.

“Thank you, Dr. Griffin.”

She nods, then, on impulse, reaches out to cup his cheek.

“You’re welcome, John.” She smiles. “And please, call me Abby.”

* * *

Marcus can tell by the way that John startles at Abby’s hand that he isn’t used to being touched for any reason that’s even approaching affection.

But he can also tell by the way that John leans into Abby’s touch that it’s something that he craves, even if he’s not quite aware of it.

He gives a final squeeze to his shoulder before stepping away, though John’s hand reaches and taps his arm quickly before he can make his way across the room.

“Thank you, uh, sir,” he says, tripping over the last word. He glances up at Marcus, his expression somewhere between abashed and grateful. “I - .” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, John. I’m just glad I was able to help.”

He smiles warmly at the younger man, who simply nods and turns away to look down at his hands once more.

Abby stands up, then immediately sways on her feet and has to grip the edge of the table so tightly that her knuckles turn white. He reaches out to her, aware of the two boys in the room with them and intending only to steady her; instead, she nearly collapses into him, her head coming to rest against his shoulder as he wraps his arm around her waist.

He hears John stand up behind them, his hand gently pushing them towards the now unoccupied examination table. Marcus carefully maneuvers Abby until he can set her gently on it. He shifts until he’s standing in front of her, dipping his head down as he brushes the hair back from her face.

“Abby?”

She gives him a shaky smile and grips his hand in hers. He frowns when he feels how cold they are.

“I’m alright, Marcus. I just got up too quickly.”

He nods slowly, pressing her hands between the two of his to warm them up.

“Is there anything else that you need?

She shakes her head, the movement extending to the rest of her body when a shiver lances through her. She tries to smile at him again, but the gesture is interrupted by another shiver. It’s not as bad as what he’s seen before from her - she’s paler than normal but not completely white, a shiver now and then though her teeth aren’t chattering - but it’s still enough to give him pause.

He stands up and shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over her before he turns to the two boys.

“I’m gonna stay and make sure that Abby’s ok, but I’d still like to talk to the two of you about what happened before we landed down here.” He looks back and forth between the two, waiting until they both nod in agreement. “There’s an empty room just down the hall and to your left. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

The two boys look at one another, then back at him and nod before hurrying out of the room.

As soon as the door closes, he turns back to Abby.

“If you wanted to be alone with me, you could’ve just said so, Marcus,” she says with a wry grin on her face.

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing small circles into her back. She lets out a sound of contentment and drops her head to rest against his chest, a short shiver crawling up her spine that he does his best to chase away with the warmth of his fingertips.

“Didn’t I basically say that?”

She rubs her cheek against his chest and chuckles.

“I do like this.”

She snakes her arms around his waist, lets her hands drift under his shirt. He sighs as she splays her fingers out, slowly warming them against his skin. He hugs her closer to him when a shiver lights goosebumps up her arms.

“Are you ok?”

She sinks deeper into him as she nods.

“I’m just running low on sleep and energy.” She sighs heavily “And I wasn’t expecting to heal as much as I did.” She looks up at him. “What he went through…what these kids have gone through - what they still might be going through.” She trails off, and its like her entire body shudders with sadness. Her brown eyes are dark with sorrow, wet at the edges with unshed tears. “Clarke is out there, Marcus. What if they’re doing to her what they did to John? What if she - .”

“She’s strong, Abby.” He reaches up to wipe a tear from her cheek. He know that there’s no guarantee of where Clarke might be or what state she might be in, that there’s no way for him to promise either. He has no powers of his own that he can use, so he gives her the one thing - the only thing - that’s within his power to give.

“I promise you that I won’t stop until I bring her home, Abby.” He cups her face in his hands and lets the edge of his thumb drift across her cheekbone. “Whatever it takes, I’ll bring her back to you.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, just gives him a long, heavy look filled with a warring kind of sadness and hope and gratefulness - and simmering beneath it, an intoxicating tenderness and heat that inexplicably causes him to shiver.

She draws herself up, straightening out her back and tipping her head up to look at him. She moves her hands out from under his shirt and traces the angle of his jaw with her fingertips, tilting her chin up as she draws him down to her.

Their lips meet with unbearable softness, the shape of her lips barely imprinted onto his. She repeats the movement over the contours of his face, pressing her lips gently over the rise of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, the slope of his jaw. She leaves a trail a featherlight kisses back to his lips, brushing her mouth over his again, the shape of her lips now pressed firmly against his. She draws back slightly and darts her tongue out, tracing this shape of his bottom lip before taking it between her lips and sucking on it gently.

She grazes her teeth over it lightly before letting go, presses her lips against his one last time before she pushes herself slightly away and looks up at him.

There’s a beat as he catches his breath, his heart knocking against his chest as he takes in her brown eyes, heavy with want, wide with vulnerability.

He ducks his head down and captures her lips with his, the movement soft even as he presses his body closer to hers. She tilts her head for a better angle, deepening the kiss as she grasps the front of his opened jacket and tugs him forward towards her. He gladly falls into her, his body bracketed on either side by her legs, his arms wrapping themselves around her waist.

He leans into the kiss, his hand drifting up the line of her spine as he strokes her tongue with his. She shivers slightly, arching her back, pressing herself against him in a way that makes him moan softly. He keeps one hand firmly against the small of her back, steadying her, as he lets the other roam freely against her skin. He trails his hand softly up her side, dipping his fingers underneath the elastic of her bra and gently circling her nipple with his thumb.

He swallows her moan, shifting his hand so that he can palm her breast as rubs her hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Abby’s hands have somehow found their way under his shirt, her fingers tracing the planes of his torso, her fingernails digging lightly into his skin in a way that makes him shiver.

He moves his other hand from its place at her lower back and tugs at the clasp of her bra, his fingers working to undo the snaps and -

A loud bang sounds on the other side of the door, stilling his movements and causing him to break away from the kiss. He immediately shifts away from Abby, placing his body between her and the door, his body tense with broken desire and fearful anticipation.

In the next moment, a string of loud and rather colorful cursing comes through the door. He lets himself relax, breathing out heavily when he hears Abby chuckle softly behind him.

He turns back towards her with a wry expression, his pursed lips softening into a smile as she reaches out to rest her hand on his cheek.

“It was probably for the best,” she says with a note of amusement, though there’s a lilt of disappointment to the words, too.

He makes a humming sound of agreement as he leans into her touch, his fingers coming up to brush a wayward strand of hair that’s fallen across her face. She smiles at him, a warm, soft thing that somehow both stills and stokes the desire still coursing through his veins. He threads the strand of her hair through his thumb and forefinger before tucking it away from her face, lets his hand drift over the shape of her ear before stepping in to give her a kiss.

He means to simply brush his lips across her forehead, so as not to tempt either them into anything more heated, but at the last moment she tips her head up and leans into him, and he can’t help but deposit the kiss on her waiting lips instead.

She smiles as his lips land on hers, the movement sweet and soft, making him want to turn the gentle movement into something more fevered and passionate.

Except that in the next moment, a sharp knock sounds at the door just before it swings open and Jackson steps into the room. He’s only able to make it halfway through Abby’s name before he stops, the syllables drifting into silence as his jaw drops and his eyes go wide.

Marcus watches as the expression on his face cycles through a whirlwind of emotions - shock and dismay and something that looks awfully close to disgust. And beneath it all - a pulsating, obvious, sorrowful kind of hurt.

He clears his throat and forces himself not to shuffle his feet and look away in shame or embarrassment from the younger man, just glances back over at Abby - whose face has its own mixture of apprehension and guilt - before he very carefully steps away from her.

“I’ll go talk to John and Bellamy while you work on Raven.”

She nods, though he notices that she still seems a little pale. He frowns and reaches out to grasp his fingers in hers, grateful that they’re at least back to feeling warm. From the corner of his eye, he can see Jackson raise his eyebrows at the gesture; still, Abby doesn’t shake away his touch, so he doesn’t let go.

“I’m alright, Marcus,” she says, then nods over at Jackson. “Jackson will be able to help a lot with Raven. I’d like to hear about the two boys, though - after.”

He nods and gives her fingers one last squeeze before letting go. He turns towards Jackson and gives the younger man a nod, somehow finding it endearing that Jackson is looking at him with a mixture of confusion and distrust.

After all he’s done and what he’s been, he wouldn’t trust him either.

Which makes it all the more amazing that Abby does.

* * *

Jackson watches Marcus leave the room with a look of deep disdain on his face, an expression that falls into even deeper lines of confusion and hurt when he turns towards her.

“Abby, what - .” He blows out a breathe, then shakes his head. “Kane and - and you - .” His mouth twists into an almost boyish sort of revulsion. “You two were kissing.” It’s a more childish sort of disgust than anything, a look akin to the one Clarke used to wear as a child when she caught her and Jake kissing in the hallway. She has to make a concerted effort not to smile at the expression, if only because she knows it hides a deeper hurt that was entirely avoidable.

“Things have changed, Jackson,” she says quietly, then wants to laugh at the complete understatement of her words.

He huffs out a strangled laugh and crosses his arms in front of him.

“Obviously.”

There’s a bite to his words that she’s not used to, even as she acknowledges that it’s wholly deserved. Jackson’s been by her side for the last decade and a half, first as her most promising apprentice, then as a second child that the Ark couldn’t punish her for.

He’s steadfast in a way that’s unassuming, steady and without judgment even when she knows he doesn’t necessarily agree. And while she knows that her life is her own and that Jackson would never presume to be privy to every part it, the simple truth is that he always has been.

“I’m sorry, Jackson,” she says, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. She opens her mouth to say more, but she knows the temptation to equivocate is too great, so she just leaves it at an apology.

He shrugs it off, though he can’t quite meet her eye.

“It’s fine, Abby. You don’t - I mean - I was just surprised. It’s...fine.”

The corner of her mouth twitches as she nods her head slowly at him.

“It’s ok if it’s not, Jackson.” She tilts her head down to meet his eyes. “It’s perfectly understandable if you’re not ok with it.”

He finally glances up and gives her a long, pensive stare.

“What is it, Abby?”

She huffs a tired laugh.

“I’m not sure exactly.” She looks down and twists her fingers together, can see out of the corner of her eye Jackson watching her intently. There’s a curiosity to his look that makes her feel relieved, if only because it’s replaced the hurt in his eyes.

“Marcus and I…” She begins, then trails off, unsure of where she was headed in the first place. There aren’t words yet for what she and Marcus are to one another - or at least, not ones that she can readily find. They aren’t lovers, for all that she knows the feel of his hands and the taste of his lips. Yet they’ve leapt past pure friendship, too, in a way that friends or partners or allies now seems incomplete and insufficient. She spreads her fingers out in front of her, as if unfurling them will provide her with some sort of answer she’s holding onto. When they don’t, she shakes her head and sighs. “Everything’s happened so quickly and things are different now.”

“So you’ve said.”

She shakes her head.

“No, I mean - everything’s different. He’s different - he’s not - he’s changed.” She takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I told him - about me - about us. About what we can do.”

Jackson’s eyes go wide, his lips shaping themselves into a surprised ‘o’ for a brief moment before he licks his lips and slowly nods at her.

“Before the Exodus ship?”

She blinks rapidly in surprise, then shakes her head.

“No - after.” She furrows her brows at him. “Why did you think before?”

Jackson leans back against the door, studying her.

“He went looking for you after the Exodus ship blasted the Ark apart.”

She swallows before shaking her head.

“He was trying to find survivors.”

Jackson gives her an inscrutable look that she isn’t quite sure how to take.

“Survival is Kane’s specialty, Abby. Knowing how to survive, no matter what - that’s what he does. That’s why the two of you could never get along” He gives her a long, pensive stare before continuing, his voice soft as if almost speaking aloud to himself. “But when you were missing, he didn’t care about survival. He cared about finding you.”

“He cared about finding survivors.”

Jackson nods.

“He did. But Abby - he crawled through that burning vent to find you.” A look of realization suddenly dawns on his face and he shakes his head as he huffs out a laugh. “Of course, I should’ve known.” He looks up at Abby. “I saw Kane’s arms after he found you - those were at least second degree burns. But then they were gone, and I thought maybe I’d just mistaken the level of injury he’d sustained. It never occurred to me that - .” He purses his lips and looks away from her, though not before she catches the look of hurt on his face again. “Anyway. I’m just surprised, as I said.”

Before Abby can say anything, he uncrosses his arms and clears his throat, feigning a posture of nonchalance that she sees through immediately.

“You trust him.”

He doesn’t phrase it like a question, but she answers it definitively anyway, her tone steady and sure.

“I do.”

Jackson examines her expression, then nods slowly .

“Ok.”

She blinks rapidly. He sounds so sure, so approving, that she’s thrown off guard for a moment.

“Ok?”

He nods once more, a short, self-assured movement.

“I trust you, Abby.” He shrugs. “And, he saved your life - before any of _this_ \- .” He makes a vague waving movement with his hand. “Ever happened. That can be enough for now.”

She nods, then arches an eyebrow at him.

“For now?”

He gives her a wry grin.

“Well, right at this moment we need to operate on Raven, so I have to be as ok as possible to get through that.”

She nods and gives him a grateful smile before she reaches over and folds her hands over his.

“He’s a good man, Jackson. I promise you that.”

Jackson makes a humming sound in the back of his throat that seems to be neither an agreement or a disagreement.

“He’d have to be to deserve you, Abby.” He squeezes her hand once before letting go and standing up. “And I’ll say this about Kane - he’s at least smart enough to know that, too.” 


End file.
